


Warlock Dowling writes to his therapist (or maybe it's just a diary after all)

by Allemande



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Humor, M/M, Pining, Romance, Second attempt at apocalypse, Slightly traumatized but mostly well-adjusted Warlock, The Powers That Be are still really incompetent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23170012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allemande/pseuds/Allemande
Summary: Yes, Dr Hirsch did tell him to write down what happened to him and how he felt while he was studying in the UK. But the good doctor probably wasn't bargaining on getting a completely crazy fantasy tale about angels and demons and the end of the world. So, yeah, on reflection? Warlock probably won't send him those diary entries about the Hot Antichrist Who Didn't End the World (Again), and about his old nanny and gardener turning up in his life once more...
Relationships: (background), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling/Adam Young
Comments: 17
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shaekspeares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaekspeares/gifts).



> So I'm not sure if unsolicited gifts are the done thing on here, but I just wanted to gift this one to [shaekspeares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaekspeares/pseuds/shaekspeares) anyway because their beautiful Adam/Warlock story stayed with me for so long after I'd read it.  
> Tiens, pour toi. J'espère que ça va te plaire ;-)

Last night I finally kissed him.

Well, to be honest – and what's the point of writing these stories, or this diary or whatever the fuck this is, if I'm not honest – he kissed me.

And oh my God, what a kiss. He practically slammed me against the bathroom wall, shoved his whole body against mine, and snogged me senseless (I talk British now). I'd thought he didn't have a lot of experience, it would certainly have explained why it took fucking ages to even get this far, but if that kiss is anything to go by, well...

We kissed for a good long while and I had my hands on his ass and was starting to grind against him – oh God I was so hard – when, of course, I fucked things up spectacularly.

Me? Fuck things up? Never, I hear you say. But I did. I got carried away and mumbled against his lips, “I knew you'd be a wild one,” and Adam let go of my shirt and stepped back.

“What?”

“It's always the quiet ones,” I reliably continued digging myself further down that hole.

Adam shook his head mutely and stepped further away from me.

“What did I say?” I tried to go for the puppy-dog eyes, but it's really hard when you're horny – and when the other guy has the puppy-dog eye thing down pat.

He squeezed his (beautiful) eyes shut for a moment, and when he opened them, he wouldn't look at me.

“I have to go.”

And just like that, he bolted.

Jesus.

I knew he was a tough one to crack. I mean, I should know, I've literally been hitting on this guy for weeks. But who knew he'd run off at that? Or maybe it wasn't what I said, specifically. Maybe it was just me talking to him that reminded him of what he was doing. Because I still think he's nowhere near out. Or whatever. Anyway, I should have kept my fucking mouth shut. (Hah. Story of my life.)

* * *

  
Okay, this is getting ridiculous. I should not be getting so worked up over one guy. Seriously, Oxford is full of hot guys. I mean, the gay scene is nothing like London (from what I hear, not that I've ever actually been) but there's still plenty of cute blokes to go around. So why am I so hung up on Adam?

There's just something about him...

Oh God, no. No no no no no. We are not going there. I am not falling for a closeted English guy with huge eyes and adorable curly hair. Who misunderstood me every single time I tried to flirt with him for FIVE WEEKS. Who held me at arm's length one minute and invited me to hang out the next.

Who has not responded to a single text since we ran into each other three days ago.

Shit.

So I was pretty hungover after that weekend (Friday: the party where The Kiss happened, Saturday: a different party at Pablo's house, unfortunately sans Adam, where there was less kissing and more grinding with random English guys and one cute Spanish guy, Sunday: hiding from the world under my blanket and promising myself for the hundredth time that I would never touch drink again). 

On Sunday evening, I finally ventured outside for a kebab, and... yeah. Ran into Adam.

“Oh. Hi,” he said brightly, as though the last time we'd seen each other was in class.

“Hi,” I said breezily, as though I hadn't spent most of my weekend obsessing over him.

There was a short pause during which we presumably both tried to come up with more monosyllabic forms of communication.

“Bye,” I finally triumphed. 

Yeah, I know. Pretty smooth if I do say so myself.

* * *

  
So, yeah. Adam wants – oh God, I'm going to puke writing this phrase, it's such a cliche.

Adam Wants To Be Friends.

We met for a kebab the other day. Well, no. We saw each other in class and then sort of meandered towards the kebab place. Adam asked if I'd eaten, and I said no, and he said let's get a kebab.

“Sure,” someone using my mouth and my vocal cords said, “if you don't mind being seen with me.”

“What?” Adam stared at me.

Damn. “It's just... you know.” I shrugged, trying to go for nonchalant. (I have yet to master nonchalant.) “People might get the wrong idea.”

Adam didn't reply at first, but when we were sitting by the river, quietly munching on our kebabs, he finally started talking, in that unnervingly direct way that he's got sometimes.

“It's not what you think.”

“What do I think?”

He smiled at me. The butterflies in my stomach woke up and did a little jig.

“I think you think that I'm not comfortable going out with guys.”

Hm. Methinks complicated phrasing indicates not being comfortable with it at all, actually.

“But that's not it,” I said, humoring him.

“No.” He sighed. “It's more a case of... loss of control. Kind of thing.”

“You don't like not being in control?” (Oh, I hear you, honey.)

“It's more complicated than that. When I'm not in control, things... happen. I'm...” He sighed again. “Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but I'm dangerous, Warlock.”

“Dangerous,” I echoed.

“Yes. I'm sorry. I really like you, but I can't risk it. Not again.”

And every other attempt by yours truly to reinitiate the subject fell on deaf ears.

So I guess we're just friends now. Which is totally fine. Except that I'm possibly going to go mad pretty soon. Because he might say that he wants to be friends, but he texts me all the time, and he smiles at me in that bordering-on-flirtatious way that none of his other friends get, not even Pepper, and he buys me stuff, and...

Oh fuck, it's going to fall to me to explain the concept of Mixed Signals to Adam Young.

* * *

  
I'm rereading my last entry and I see that I was worried about going mad. Well, no need to worry anymore, because madness is here. Wahey! Except it feels like being normal, but I guess that's what a mad person would say?

OK. Here goes.

I saw my old nanny and our gardener yesterday. I hadn't seen them since I was six, but they were kind of almost as important to me as my mom. (There you go, Dr Hirsch, if I ever do end up sending this to you: you were right. Mind you, I probably won't send it, because I don't want to be locked up in a madhouse.)

So I hadn't seen them in ages, and by all rights I shouldn't have recognized them as easily as that, but there they were, walking through the streets of Oxford, not quite arm-in-arm but pretty close, and they looked younger than before, and Nanny was wearing pants and a really cool leather jacket, and Brother Francis was dressed really differently too (sort of Oscar Wilde meets librarian?), but it was still them.

I could have hallucinated it, of course. I mean, there's no plausible explanation for what happened when they crossed a street without looking (I swear to God the traffic just bent around them) or when they stopped by the river and a hundred or so ducks just flocked towards them and Brother Francis was suddenly holding a bag full of breadcrumbs that had not been there before.

And yes, my accurate description of these events shows pretty clearly that I tailed them, stupidly, like in one of those bad spy movies. But I don't think they noticed me. There were so engrossed in each other, they barely noticed anything in their path.

(Were Nanny and Brother Francis an item back in the day? Huh.)

Anyway, I lost them at some point (again, possibly mad, but I was just behind them and they turned a corner and were just gone), so who knows, maybe it was a really, really elaborate daydream.

For some reason I felt like talking to Adam about it, so I went to his dorm, but Pepper was there. It's not as though Pepper doesn't like me, I don't think, but she always looks at me as though I'm a ticking time bomb or something. Maybe she doesn't like Americans? 

So I stayed for a quick drink and then went home, where more drink was taken.

Still not over Adam.

* * *

  
Mr Mixed Signals has done it again.

We met up for a study session the other day, because that's what we are now, study buddies, never mind that I'd much prefer us to be another similar-sounding thing.

We were completely in the friend zone for hours, discussing literature (not so much the set texts but other stuff), and I was making an impassioned plea for the validity of Captain Ahab's obsession with revenge, when suddenly he smiled at me and said “You know, it's funny, you calm me down like no one else does.”

Having completely lost my train of thought, I frowned at him. “What does that mean then?”

Adam shrugged, still looking at me in an intent sort of way that did something funny to my insides. “I don't know. But it's got to mean something.” And then he seemed to shake himself out of it, and grabbed the nearest book. “Right. Back to Gatsby?”

And Back to Gatsby, it soon turned out, also meant firmly Back in Friend Zone.

Huh.


	2. Chapter 2

Fucking hell (as the Brits like to say).

I don't even know where to start.

Deep breath. Let's start with our current situation and work our way backwards from there.

I'm in Adam's dorm, watching Adam sleep. I kind of wish that story started with us having amazing sex and then crashing at his place, but unfortunately it's way more complicated than that. For one, if that was the case, I wouldn't be obsessively checking every five minutes that he was still breathing.

We celebrated our birthday last night. Adam and I, having figured out that we shared a birthday (of course we do, because the universe hasn't been cruel enough to me already), planned a joint party for our 22nd. We invited tons of people, and up to a certain point it was a really nice 'do', as the Brits say (although I think maybe that's just old Brits?).

Anyway, we had a great party in Adam's dorm's common room, a lot of drink and food was consumed, I was definitely not eyeing Adam all evening but talking to the cute Spanish guy from a couple weeks back, and Adam's friend-from-back-home Brian was just starting to turn the music up really loud and people were starting to dance... 

And then suddenly there was a huge bang and all the lights went out, and everyone cheered at first because what's a good party without a massive power failure, right?

Except it wasn't a power failure, it was them.

A tall American guy and a short English woman who appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the room, and I mean out of NOWHERE, because even though the lights weren't working these two were emitting an unearthly glow so that we could all see very clearly that they just... blinked into existence right there on the dancefloor.

Most of the guests screamed and ran for the door, and very quickly only Adam, Pepper, Adam's two friends from back home and me were left. 

“Good,” said the woman, who was dressed in this really weird get-up that looked like a Goth had eaten a businesswoman. “Saves us the hassle of getting rid of them. Now, for the remaining humans –” 

“Don't you dare,” Adam spat as she lifted a hand.

Suddenly, I knew what Adam had meant by “dangerous”.

“You want witnesses?” said the man, who looked like one of my father's rich business friends. “Fine. We don't care.” He smiled at Adam. It looked like nobody had ever told him that you had to make your eyes smile too.

“So. Eleven years,” he said, as though that should mean anything to anyone.

Except it definitely did, to everyone except me.

“Eleven years,” Adam nodded. “And I haven't changed my mind.”

His three friends moved closer to him. I was still pretty far away from them all – in fact, I was half-hidden behind the bar and pretty sure the two intruders hadn't spotted me yet.

“Yes, well. We thought you would say that.” The man smiled unpleasantly again. “Which is why I'm afraid we've decided to force your hand a little.”

“You can't –” Adam said, and then gasped as the woman opened a little wooden box she'd been holding.

Adam's short, fragile-looking friend, who was standing closest to him, fainted at once. The other guy – Brian – and Pepper swayed on the spot, looking hypnotized by the box's contents, and Adam shot them an alarmed look. “Close your eyes,” he said urgently.

“Yes, why don't you close them indefinitely,” the woman said and waved a hand, but Adam cried out and thrust out an arm, catching them as they fell. 

He briefly laid a hand on each of their heads. Finally, it looked like he was satisfied that they were in no immediate danger, and he got back up.

“Really bad move, trying to kill my friends,” he said in a low growl.

“Friends,” the man said disdainfully. “What good are human friends to you, Adam? You'll be the ruler of all the kingdoms of the Earth.”

“I told you eleven years ago,” Adam said. “I'm not interested in ruling the world.”

“Enough of this,” said the woman testily and thrust the box at him, and suddenly Adam was covered in a red mist that seemed to envelop him completely from head to toe. He tried to shake it off, then to step out of it, but it wouldn't budge, and I could see him growing more and more desperate as his eyes...

His eyes began to glow red.

“No!” he shouted. “I don't want to be this! You can't make me!”

“Oh, but we can,” said the woman mercilessly. “This is your destiny, Adam Young. You must destroy the world.”

“But I...” Adam looked down at his friends desperately, and then it was as though a huge force dragged his gaze, and his arms, upwards. “No,” he gasped again, and suddenly, there was a pillar of glowing red light where he stood, shooting upwards through the ceiling, and Adam stood in the centre of it, his arms raised and an unearthly roar coming out of his mouth.

The door burst open and in came – Nanny and Brother Francis.

(Deep breaths, I keep having to remind myself. I'll be no use to Adam if he wakes up and I'm all panicky reliving it.)

Nanny wasn't just wearing pants now, she was a man. Maybe she's always been a man? Anyway, the man who used to be my nanny ran towards Adam, but he was thrown backwards into a wall as soon as he so much as approached the pillar of light.

“Crowley!” the man who had used to be our gardener called out and rushed to his side, helping him up.

The Goth woman cackled and her associate gave a nasty sneer.

“Crowley, the traitor,” she said. “There's nothing you or your angel ally can do now.”

“What have you done?” Crowley gasped, leaning on his friend.

“Helped things along a little,” said the man, who had taken a few steps back, away from Adam, who seemed to disgust him. “Little bit of essence of Satan, and voilà.”

“But you can't,” gasped Brother Francis.

“Beg to differ, Aziraphale,” said the nasty-looking businessman.

Okay, I'm not actually sure how, but I know that's how his name is spelled. Weird, right?

So.

“Beg to differ, Aziraphale,” said the nasty-looking businessman. “We can, and we have. He belongs to Lucifer now, I'm afraid. And you had better stay right out of it if you know what's good for you.”

“Had we really,” Aziraphale said in a dangerous tone and stepped closer to him. The man recoiled, not so much disgusted as afraid, now. The man called Crowley seemed to notice this right away and joined Aziraphale.

“You have no idea what we're capable of,” he hissed.

“That is neither here nor there,” said the short woman, and her voice sounded less human now and more like a large, ugly fly buzzing against a closed window. “You can't stop what we've started.”

Crowley and Aziraphale looked towards Adam, who was still right in the middle of the pillar of light, looking less human now, too, and I could hear crashes and screams from outside, and the rumble of a huge thunderstorm approaching.

“Adam,” Aziraphale called. “You can still stop this. Concentrate!”

But Adam didn't seem to hear him.

“Adam, remember,” Crowley tried, in a low, persuasive tone that carried across the room nonetheless. “All you ever wanted was a quiet life in Tadfield. It'll all be gone if you don't stop this.”

I hadn't really believed it until then, but hearing Nanny – Crowley – confirm it convinced me: Adam really did have the power to destroy the world.

Adam looked at Crowley. The roar that had come out of his mouth had stopped, but his arms were still raised, and he was still sending a pillar of red light up through the ceiling, presumably right up into the sky. He was shaking, and I realized with a jolt that he was crying.

“I can't,” he said in a broken voice. “I can't stop it. It's too much.”

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other and seemed to come to a joint decision without speaking. Crowley took Aziraphale's hand in his, and for a moment they just looked into each other's eyes. Then, they charged towards Adam, shoving the two intruders aside, and launched themselves at the pillar – which repelled them at once, throwing them right across the room and into the far wall, where they slumped onto the floor, unconscious.

“Well,” said the woman/fly/creature. “If they can't do it, it means no one can. I will go and prepare the troops.” She looked briefly back up at her comrade. “See you on the battlefield. We will win, obviously.”

“You wish,” he grinned, and they both disappeared with a pop.

“No,” Adam whispered, and I think it was the sight of him all alone at the far end of the room that finally unfroze me.

“Adam,” I called out, and I placed myself within his line of vision, keeping a safe distance from the thrumming energy that I could feel emanating from him.

“Warlock!” He stared at me with those red eyes. “Get out of here. Run! I can't stop this. Please.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” I said. I don't want you to be alone, I thought, but aloud I said something like, “You're going to destroy the world anyway, right? So there's no safe place to run.”

“Oh God, Warlock.” He was looking skyward, tears streaming down his face, and I wished more than anything that I could just hold him. “I wish... I can't...”

You calm me down like no one else does, was what suddenly popped into my mind.

“Adam, look at me,” I said. “Focus on me. You can stop this.”

Adam turned those eerie red eyes on me, and it felt a little like his gaze was burning right through me. “I. Can't,” he hissed.

“You can,” I said. I have no idea where my sudden assurance came from, but I was absolutely, 100% sure that this was the way. “Focus on me. Tune out everything else. Don't think about the earth, or the sky, or the storm. Just focus on me.”

I kept on a steady stream of reassuring words as he stared at me, and slowly, very slowly, he lowered his arms, and after what felt like an eternity, the glow around him started to fade, the pillar of light disappeared, and his eyes turned brown.

“Warlock,” he whispered, and collapsed.

Man. I'm still shaking thinking about it.

Adam has been sleeping for more than twenty hours. I slept on his couch for the first nine of them or so, before I woke up completely disorientated and convinced (in the first few seconds at least) that he was dead.

But he's been breathing evenly throughout and he has a regular heartbeat. I called Crowley anyway.

“Should be out for a while,” he said. “I once slept for fifty-six years.”

Because apparently that's the kind of thing he says now.

“Yeah, but you're full demon,” I said, because that's the kind of thing I say now. “You told me he was...”

“Of Satanic lineage, but essentially human,” Crowley said matter-of-factly, because – yeah, you get my drift. “Yup. But his body and mind both need to heal. What they did to him...” And there he trailed off, sounding appalled by the people who – if I understood correctly – were once his and Aziraphale's employers.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I wouldn't be surprised if he slept for a while yet. Hey, you're not standing guard or something, are you? You can go out, you know. We put a... a protective charm kind of thing on his room. They won't bother him again, not now.”

I reassured Crowley that Pepper had brought me food and drink this morning and that I would go out soon, and rang off.

That was a couple of hours ago, and I still can't bring myself to leave Adam's side, not yet. ('What they did to him' said in that ominous tone is going to haunt me for a while.) Anyway, I really want to finish writing it all down. 

(I hope Adam won't be needing the paper I borrowed, but honestly, I'm doing him a favor: I'm writing on the back of a really boring literary critique of Wuthering Heights.)

Back to last night.

I hadn't realized that Crowley and Aziraphale were conscious again, but when I ran over to Adam, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, they were suddenly there with me.

“Don't hurt him,” I said reflexively, because the look of utter determination on their faces when they had charged at him earlier was still burnt onto my retinas. Among other images.

“We were trying to save him,” Aziraphale said, a note of impatience in his voice, as he laid a hand on Adam's chest and closed his eyes.

“He's alive,” he said softly. “But he needs to rest. Is there anywhere –” He opened his eyes and looked at me, and his words died in his throat.

Crowley, following his gaze, gasped.

“Good God,” Aziraphale said. “It really is you. I thought – earlier – but –”

“It's me,” I confirmed.

“I guess we should have known when he said your name earlier,” Crowley said in a low voice. (So I guess they'd been conscious for a while then. Or maybe they don't really do unconscious?)

“Not a lot of Warlocks around,” I nodded, wondering in a detached sort of way why I was being so utterly cool about it all.

“Dear boy,” Aziraphale said, and suddenly, all the times he'd called me that before came rushing back to me, and the next moment I was bawling like a little baby.

(I guess the coolness thing was just shock after all.)

It was Crowley, incredibly cool-looking Crowley, who hugged and shushed me, and the memory of Nanny... him as Nanny! made me cry even harder.

“It's alright,” he said softly. “You did really well. You saved the world, Warlock. I'm proud of you.”

That didn't help with the crying.

But in the end, I managed to pull myself together, and we took Adam upstairs to his room. Not right away, of course. First, they... I mean, I shouldn't even be surprised anymore, but they just snapped their fingers and the ceiling repaired itself, the overturned chairs righted themselves, everything was back where it had been before, and Aziraphale laid a hand on each of Adam's friends' heads (I'd sort of forgotten they were there, oops), and they woke up and, after a few explanations which frankly didn't clear anything up for me at all, we all went upstairs.

We laid Adam on his bed and sat down, the two older men on the couch and the rest of us on the floor. Aziraphale pulled five cups of hot cocoa out of thin air. As if we were still children! But I can't say we complained, either. And anyway, he had some, too.

I'm going to try and record the following conversation as I remember it, but I'm not sure I got everything.

“So he's going to be alright?” Pepper asked, jerking her head toward Adam. “You checked?”

Aziraphale nodded. “He'll be fine. He just needs some rest.”

“And they,” This time she nodded up-, then downwards, “won't be back?”

“For now,” Crowley said. He was frowning at her. “So you remember us, do you?”

“How couldn't we?” Brian said. “You were there eleven years ago. Not a time we're likely to forget.”

“He could have made us forget,” said the small one whose name I still don't know, looking at the men on the couch shrewdly. “That's what you expected him to do.”

“He wouldn't!” Pepper said, sounding mutinous. “He's not like them.”

“That much is certain,” Aziraphale said. “But you do have a point,” he continued, addressing the small one. “Adam... well, he restored a lot of things to their previous state after... the last time. I suppose we assumed he would make it easier on you by erasing your memories.”

“Fat chance,” Pepper growled.

“So, what,” said Brian, “they'll try this every eleven years now, or something?”

“Could be,” Crowley said slowly, as though this hadn't occurred to him yet. He turned to Aziraphale for confirmation, who just shrugged heavily.

“Didn't you use to work for them?” asked the small one. “Adam said...”

Crowley frowned. He was obviously not happy with Adam's friends knowing stuff about them. Whatever that stuff was.

“We did,” Aziraphale confirmed. “We're not anymore.”

“They were scared of you,” I said. “The two... whatever they were.”

Crowley and Aziraphale looked pretty pleased at that, while Pepper and the two boys stared at me as though they hadn't really registered that I was there yet.

“Scared,” Pepper echoed finally. “Weren't those two like really high-ups?”

“The Archangel Gabriel and Beelzebub, Prince of Hell?” Crowley said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, pretty high up. And low down. Depending on your perspective, of course.”

“So how did you stop them?”

“We didn't,” Crowley said, and I could be wrong, but he sounded like he had earlier, when he'd said that he was proud of me. “Warlock did.”

“How?” asked Brian as all faces swiveled towards me again.

I swallowed. “I just talked to him.”

“Talked to him,” said the small one.

“Um. This is going to sound crazy, but I sort of knew that that was what I had to do, so it worked?”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a look that I found impossible to read.

“Don't worry,” Pepper said dryly. “Our threshold for things sounding crazy has been raised considerably ever since Adam almost ended the world eleven years ago.”

After a little more of this pretty incomprehensible back-and-forth, Adam's friends left for their respective beds – at least, Pepper, Brian and the small one did, Aziraphale pronouncing them “out of danger of Satanic influences but still in need of rest”, I volunteered to stay with Adam, which got me a few weird looks that I chose to ignore, Crowley gave me his number, and after a few more (meagre) explanations he and Aziraphale left for... wherever they live.

I still have so many questions, but I was shattered too last night, and decided to postpone them. Except now I've been awake for eleven hours, Adam is still sleeping, and I'm still none the wiser about What The Fuck Happened Last Night.

Oh – I think he's waking up.


	3. Chapter 3

Be careful what you wish for, he said with a hollow laugh.

Personally, my wish was for someone to enlighten me on What The Fuck Happened the night of my and Adam's birthday, and as a bonus, What The Fuck Happened Eleven Years Ago that everyone's so hung up about. 

Well, they did, and I'm not sure I needed to know all of it.

Adam having woken up but still being really weak and tired (Crowley said it was normal because they'd 'nearly emptied his essence', whatever that means), I didn't dare question him too much. I took turns with Pepper and the two guys to keep him company, and Adam seemed happy enough whenever I came by, but we mainly watched TV and once or twice started talking about one of our set books until he said that his head hurt.

So I was relieved, and I guess a little excited, when Crowley and Aziraphale came by to check on him yesterday and took me out to lunch while Adam took a nap.

Let's see if I can get it all down without losing my mind.

Adam is the Antichrist. The actual, literal Antichrist who I would have sworn didn't exist, except for the stuff that I saw that night. 

He was supposed to end the world on his eleventh birthday, except he... didn't want to, or something? Aziraphale said something about Adam being 'far more human than any of those Upstairs or Downstairs expected him to be,' which he said like it was a good thing even though we all know that humans can be fucking monsters. But he and Crowley seem to love humanity to such a degree that they tend to forgive us our more moronic / psychopathic tendencies.

Yeah, I said 'us'. Because like they sort of told me last time, just before they left, they're not human. Aziraphale is an angel and Crowley is a demon. They've been on earth ever since... uh, not sure about this bit, but for a really long time. (Aziraphale started out saying “In the beginning, there was a garden,” but Crowley shushed him, and anyway I think he was joking.)

And now for my role in this glorious tale, because, hey, was it a coincidence that I knew Crowley and Aziraphale and they just happened to come by on Adam's and my birthday? 

It wasn't.

Adam should have been raised by my parents. By Harriet and Thaddeus Dowling, I should say, because they're not my parents, biologically speaking. The plan was that Adam would be raised by them, and I guess become as much of a fuck-up as I am, and then end the world when he had the chance to. (Would I have done it? Huh. I'm not sure.)

Instead, he was raised by this really normal English couple in Tadfield who also happened to be at the same birthing hospital (Crowley just kept saying that “there was a stupid mix-up, could have happened to anyone” and Aziraphale kept smiling at him indulgently, ergo Crowley ballsed it up). 

I'm not entirely sure, because Crowley and Aziraphale were really evasive on this, but I think that means that those two (Mr and Mrs Young) are actually my biological parents.

And, uh, there must have been a third baby somewhere along the line. The biological child of the Dowlings. Not sure where that went and I've got to say I don't much care at this point.

So. Because I was raised by the Dowlings, Crowley and Aziraphale thought I was the Antichrist, and that's why they came to live at our estate to try and influence me into good and evil respectively, fat lot of good that did. 

Well, it did, if I'm honest. Those two, as crazy as they seemed, kept me sane. Dr Hirsch (who, even if I do send this to him one day, is definitely not reading this anymore, but checking where he put the straightjackets) told me as much. He pretty much confirmed that my parents – the Dowlings – whatever I'm going to call them now – sounded “difficult at best” and that my weird nanny and gardener sounded “like they'd been very important to me and had helped me navigate my way through a less than ideal situation”.

You know what – I'm glad they told me. It's kind of terrifying to find out that you were somehow part of a gigantic plan to bring about (or thwart) the apocalypse, but at the same time, it feels like it gives my incredibly weird childhood some sort of meaning.

And I could be wrong, but I think they still care about me. I mean, they were really surprised when I dared hint that it would have been nice if they'd kept in touch, but I get now why they didn't – they had an apocalypse to thwart – and it sounded like they were really sorry and that they wanted to keep in touch.

Another thing that ties me to Adam. I'm not sure if I should be happy about this or not.

* * *

Right. Time to chronicle two convos: a very enlightening one with the Antichrist and an extremely awkward one with angel&demon.

Adam's been feeling much better and we've been taking walks down to the river, chatting about this and that. I get the feeling he really appreciates talking about random stuff that's unconnected to the whole metaphysical side of his life. I think his friends are very good at that, too, but they're not exactly LGBT-savvy, so I get to fill that role. So we've been watching RuPaul and gushing about the participants. It's hilarious getting a repressed Brit's take on the whole thing.

It also means that we've started talking about our own identities as gay men, though, so I really shouldn't have been surprised when Adam brought up The Kiss again one afternoon.

“I've been meaning to apologize for Louise's party,” he said as we sat on a bench down at the park sharing fish and chips.

I was so surprised by him bringing it up that I didn't really know how to react, so I just frowned at him.

“Running off like that,” he said, “without explaining myself. I mean, not that I could have explained it at the time.”

Another pause during which I further perfected the questioning frown.

“It wasn't because I didn't –” He broke off, shaking his head. “It's all tied up with the Antichrist thing, is what I'm trying to say.”

Right. I remembered now. “You said you were dangerous,” I nodded. “What, so kissing someone brings out the Antichrist in you?”

“Loss of control does,” Adam said darkly.

“Right.”

There was a long pause, and finally he said, “Do you remember that weird Oxfordshire earthquake five years ago?”

I stared at him. “Seriously.”

“Yup.” He stared unhappily at the French fry in his hand.

“What, so you caused an actual earthquake just because you kissed someone?”

Adam cleared his throat. “It was a bit more than kissing.”

I couldn't help myself, I laughed.

“It's not funny,” he scowled at me.

“It's a little bit funny,” I shrugged, and he smiled, a little, eventually.

A week or so later, I saw Crowley and Aziraphale in London. They've been taking me out to see art galleries and stuff, which is surprisingly nice and only a little awkward. We went to lunch after this particular exhibit (which reminds me I should probably offer to pay for lunch at some point in the future, but Crowley always whips out his credit card before I can even so much as reach for my wallet, and he seems to enjoy inviting us, including Aziraphale), talked about this and that, and at one point we talked about Adam.

Which is where the awkward convo comes in. Because they've been asking about my childhood and my adolescence a lot, and while I'm sort of glad they care, there's only so much soul-searching I can bear on one single lunch date, so this time I steered the conversation towards Adam. I think I wasn't obvious about it, I mean I didn't show any particular interest-exceeding-the-friend-zone, I just phrased it like I was curious to see how 'other me' had fared at the same time.

And this is where the story of the earthquake came up.

“And then there was a rather troubling event about – oh, it must have been about five years ago,” Aziraphale said in that prim-and-proper way of his that's sort of endearing, and shouldn't draw you in but does. “I don't know whether you heard about an odd little, apparently natural phenomenon in Oxfordshire around that time?” 

“Just call it an earthquake, angel,” Crowley said, lounging back in his seat as usual and probably rolling his eyes behind those sunglasses.

“Yes, well. An earthquake, then.”

I said that I'd heard about it, but I faked ignorance as to the origin because I was curious about their take on it.

“Well, it showed rather poignantly that Adam may be safe on a day-to-day basis, but not under the influence of certain substances,” Aziraphale said disapprovingly.

Crowley and I exchanged a look. There was a slight smile playing around Crowley's lips.

“Certain substances?” I said innocently.

“Drugs, of course,” said Aziraphale, and emptied his third glass of wine. “I thought you should know, since the two of you are friendly, that he needs to be very careful around those. I mean, he has been on exemplary behavior ever since, but nevertheless, it remains an important issue.”

There was a pause. Crowley's smile had stretched even wider.

“I think you've got the wrong end of the stick there, angel,” he finally said fondly.

“Sorry?”

“He told you, didn't he?” Crowley asked me. I nodded.

“Was it drugs?”

“Not that he mentioned, no.”

“Well, what was it?” Aziraphale asked, looking very put out about being left out of the loop.

“Sex, angel,” drawled Crowley, and I'm pretty sure he gave Aziraphale a lewd stare over the rim of his sunglasses, which is just – ew, I really don't want to know.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, coloring slightly. “Well.”

So yeah, that was that.

('It wasn't because I didn't...' Adam said... What does that even mean?)

* * *

Oh God. I don't know where to start.

'Start at the beginning', said literally no Creative Writing Class lecturer ever.

It sounds more like something Dr Hirsch would say (who would then subsequently watch me fall apart piece by piece and then help me reconstruct some semblance of a human being, okay, maybe I'm being overly dramatic. Honestly, I owe my shrink almost as much as I do Crowley and Aziraphale).

So anyway. In the beginning, there was a garden... just kidding. 

In the beginning of this particular chapter – which I think may very well be the last one for a while – there was a walk with Adam through the park, because this is how we roll: greasy food from some fast food place, walk down to the river, semi-philosophical ponderings while sat on a bench.

I was in a pretty bad funk that day, and Adam, who can read me like a book now, asked what was up. I tried to avoid answering, because I didn't want to appear like a needy loser or something, but in the end he got it out of me. Basically, not-so-cute Spanish guy who I'd been dating for a couple of weeks dropped out of the wedding he'd agreed to come to with me, and I was pissed.

“Not because of the guy,” I said, probably a little too hastily. “I was just... I guess I was looking forward to showing up to a family party with a 'boyfriend'.” (I made sure to draw air quotes there.)

“It's a family wedding?”

“Sort of. My mom's best friend's getting married for what I think must be the fifth time, to a rich English guy who's somehow connected to my dad through work.”

“Right. Sounds like fun.”

“Ugh.”

“And, what, you were hoping to shock your parents or something?”

I sighed, deliberating. Well, what harm could it do telling him the full story, I reasoned. “If you must know, I was trying to get back at my ex. The bride's son. Who dumped me unceremoniously two years ago when he got into Harvard.”

“Ouch.” Adam looked out at the river, and maybe I was imagining it, but he seemed to be avoiding my eye.

“Anyway,” I said. “I'll just –”

“I could come,” he blurted out.

“I –” I swallowed. “What?”

“I could come,” he repeated, looking me straight in the eye. “Unless that's weird.”

“It's a little weird,” I heard myself say. “But. Um. If it doesn't bother you pretending that we're, you know...”

Adam just shrugged, so that was that.

Even though it was pretty exciting (and nerve-wracking, but mostly fun) to show up at the wedding with a gorgeous fake boyfriend, the wedding itself was as awful as expected. Clarisse, Theo's mom, who was getting married to afore-mentioned rich English guy in London, played the blushing, weeping bride even though everyone knows that she's done this so many times (and not always for love). My parents were uninterested in my life as usual; and Theo was an asshole. 

It's a good thing, actually, to finally realize that he's always been that. I guess I was blinded by love for a long time and thought I could make him better. (Jesus. The plot of every second romance novel out there, which, yeah, casts me in the role of the woman. Great.)

Adam was in the bathroom, and I don't think Theo had spotted him at all yet, when he came up to me to taunt me, his favorite sport.

“So, Oxford, huh,” he said, joining me at the bar.

“Oxford,” I confirmed, inwardly rolling my eyes already.

“What was it, creative writing?”

“English literature.” Every single one of my shrink's tips for dealing with this guy were jostling for space in my head, it was difficult to concentrate on one.

“Guessing you meet a lot of arty types then,” he said, sipping his drink. “I envy you, you know. Law school is so boring. No potheads, for one. Guess they don't want to get distracted from the shitload of work we get. Ugh. Still. It's important work, I guess.”

“Can't say I've met a lot of potheads either,” I said in what I hoped was a neutral tone. I would not take his baits. I would not. “Pretty nice people all around, though.”

“Nice is good,” he said carelessly.

“You get pretty good whiskey in England, too,” I said, nodding at his glass.

“Oh, yeah. The Brits are renowned for their legendary drinking.” He gave me a not-so-subtle-once-over. “So, nice people, good drinking, all in all a good time then? You look good, anyway.”

Oh, please. Not this again. I took care not to thank him and just shrugged non-committally. “Yeah, can't complain. You?”

He mirrored my shrug, but I was sure it was calculated, just like everything this guy did. “Well, like I said, boring on the one hand. On the other, you'd be surprised at the amount of closeted rich brats just begging for it. Man, the sex I've been having.”

Yup, there he was, asshole in full-fledged mode.

In an instance of extremely good timing, Adam chose that moment to join us by the bar, and judging the situation correctly at once, he adopted a 'relaxed boyfriend' body language: standing a little closer than a friend would and throwing me very familiar glances, but not being overly possessive by putting his arm around me or something. It was brilliant. And weirdly, I don't remember it as being painful at the time, because I was so focused on getting back at Theo (which was working).

Adam introduced himself and turned his charm on 200%, which I'm sure is partly an Antichrist thing, but man I am not complaining. Theo was charmed, and jealous, and suitably cowed.

Later, Adam and I even danced together, which was a little weirder, but not too bad. Adam seemed to enjoy it and I just went with the flow of 'If this is the only chance I get' etc.

(Not that it will be oh GOD I still can't believe it)

Here's the crucial bit of the evening that will stay with me forever.

I was on the terrace, smoking to calm myself down after one of my usual confrontations with dad. I can't be bothered to write down what it was about, suffice it to say that it was witnessed by Adam. I was, as usual, furious with myself for overreacting. I'm starting to think you can go to therapy all you want, your parents will always press exactly the right trigger points for you to revert to your teenage self and react like a stupid idiot who's never heard of anger management.

“Family, eh,” said Adam, joining me.

Unfortunately, I still wasn't back to my normal self, so I'm afraid I muttered something bitter about Adam having it good with his really normal and nice parents back in Tadfield.

“You're probably right,” he shrugged, unfazed by my bitchiness because he is officially Too Good For Me. (And yet...!) “By the way, Theo was chatting me up earlier.”

“Oh. Can't say I'm surprised.” I swallowed, trying to get my voice to do 'fun and unbothered'. “And? Was he successful?”

Adam snorted. “As if.” He gave me that particular smile that I only ever saw him direct at me, and it made my heart jump into my throat. “I told him I only went out with gorgeous and profoundly nice guys.”

“Adam...” I closed my eyes, turning away from him. There was a moment of silence. “I mean, I appreciate you defending me. And making Theo feel like crap. Seriously, that's awesome after all he's said to me over the years. But...”

“You think I'm being cruel,” Adam completed my sentence.

“Not intentionally.” I sighed. “Look, I think I'd better call it a night. Surely two hours' worth of attendance is enough for my parents not to disinherit me.”

“Warlock.” Suddenly, he was standing very close to me. “I'm not being cruel. I am trying to tell you something here.”

I looked up into those deep brown eyes, but I couldn't say a word. Magic? Yeah, but probably not the Antichrist kind.

“I've been going up to London to meet up with Aziraphale and Crowley and learn how to control my powers,” he said in a rush.

“Oh,” I managed. And because I will always be a pessimist at heart, I asked, “Long term planning for the next apocalypse in eleven years?”

“That's part of it,” he smiled and took my hands. “But another big part of it is you.”

“Oh,” I breathed again.

“Yeah.”

“So,” I swallowed. “How far along are you in your... training, or whatever it is?”

“Far enough to give it a try,” he said. Then he blinked, and looked unsure all of a sudden. “That is. If you still want to.”

“If I still –” I shook my head. “Don't be such a moron.”

Not the smoothest line to follow up with a passionate kiss, I admit, but there you have it.

The world didn't end. Adam didn't cause an earthquake, didn't even break anything, not even when we went to the hotel my mom had booked for us (because obviously she has completely forgotten that Oxford is less than an hour away, but hey, again, not complaining) and had the most spectacular sex I've had in a long, long time.

Jesus Christ – Antichrist – I love this guy.

And once again, my amazing chronicle is cut short by Adam waking up, and I have been planning a number of activities for us this morning.

* * *

Okay, not the last chapter. But I think this one is.

We're back in Oxford, and I'm sitting in class, the most boring one with that lecturer who expects us to just copy shit down, so I might as well write down this little bit as well.

After we checked out of the hotel room that morning (a couple of hours after my last entry, hem hem), we decided to take a trip down south to see Crowley and Aziraphale. They have a cottage there now, apparently. And they're even more obviously married when you meet them in that context. The amount of loving bickering is... well, it's kind of cute, actually.

First, though, we had to deal with Aziraphale's reaction when he opened the door to us.

“Oh!” He took a full step backward, clutching his hand to his chest. “You two are so...”

“Warlock, Adam,” Crowley greeted us, coming up behind him. “What's the matter with you, angel?”

“They're just so very...” Aziraphale took several deep breaths. “Well. Never mind me. Do come in.”

But he wouldn't stop staring at us in a mixture of delight and worry.

“What brings you down to our humble abode?” asked Crowley mock-ceremoniously as we sat down and Aziraphale busied himself with making tea.

“Oh, we were at a wedding in London and thought we'd stop by,” I said in as casual tone as I could muster.

“Together?” Crowley asked, looking at us shrewdly out of those frankly unnerving eyes.

“Yes,” Adam said, and it sounded like an answer on many levels all at once.

“I see,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale bustled over and we were all served tea and cookies, and Crowley gave a little wicked smile as his partner sat down.

“No earthquakes, then?” he asked Adam matter-of-factly.

“What?” sputtered Aziraphale. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing, judging by your reaction at the door,” Crowley commented dryly.

“But – you can't sense –”

“Nope. But I can read people, angel.”

“No earthquakes,” Adam said, looking amused at this exchange, while I was trying not to look too embarrassed. “But I wasn't expecting any. It's just like that second apocalypse that didn't happen: Warlock calms me down.” He smiled at me. “It should have occurred to me earlier, actually. Nothing happened when we first kissed, even though I was...” Really drunk, I completed in my head as he broke off. Some things you don't say in front of your – I guess they're our common godparents, or something?

“Well. That's good, then.” Aziraphale was still wrinkling his nose disapprovingly. 

I guess he wasn't overly happy with Adam just having gone ahead and... well, put their training to the test. Adam confirmed this to me on the train back but said that he didn't much care, as Aziraphale tended to worry too much anyway and would probably have recommended another two or three years of quiet study.

“I wasn't going to wait that long,” he smiled and gave me a little peck on the cheek. (I think we were awfully lovey-dovey on the train, actually. I pity our fellow passengers.)

“So what's with the whole clutching his heart and sensing things?” I asked.

“Oh,” Adam said. He looked at me warily, then seemed to make up his mind. “Angels can sense love.”

“Ah,” I said, my heart pounding in my throat. “No wonder he was overwhelmed. Lot of that coming from this quarter.”

“And this one,” he smiled.

When we next emerged for air, the person who'd been sitting across from us had gone and found themselves another seat.


End file.
